


Gerome Has A Crisis

by Troodon



Series: For Drea [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mostly Anonymous Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troodon/pseuds/Troodon
Summary: What the hell do you do when you realize your bosses are really fuckin' hot?





	Gerome Has A Crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreabean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/gifts).



It started when Gerome walked in on the Boss washing.

They'd done some housekeeping in the sewers, and one of the grenades had been faulty and gone off too early. No one got hurt, but it caused a fuckin' awful wave of sewer water to splash over everyone, Boss included. After, everyone had left to wash up, leaving Gerome to give the Boss the headcount of casualties (minor injuries, no one knows how Munchkin almost got eaten by a fuckin' river krust, but there you have it).

Now, Gerome is... Was. A married man. Happily married. To a fighter of a woman who once brained him with a skillet and made him see stars. Gerome had... _did_ love her with all his heart.

But when he walked into the Boss's office and saw broad, muscular shoulders and biceps and strong arms braced on the desk over a bowl of water, he froze. Daud must have heard him come in, because he glanced up through a curtain of hair (fuck, his hair was dripping _water_ down his _chest_ Daud never had his hair down it softened his face and made him look years younger but in a sexy way fuck brain no).

“Report,” the Boss ordered. Gerome had no idea what he said to Daud, but it must have been sufficient, because the man barely raised an eyebrow. This was a fucking travesty. Sure, the Boss had the whole “hold you down and ravish the fuck out of you” look to him, but Gerome wasn't attracted to men. He was too fuckin' old to be suddenly finding his _boss_ attractive. Everything was terrible.

Mechanically, Gerome left the Boss' office in search of the one person he could trust to sort the this the fuck out.

It took him a few minutes, but he found Cal doing chin-ups in the training room. Without breaking stride, he grabbed at her shirt and tried to tug her along with him. Of course, the fuckin' ex-pirate couldn't play along since she weighed two of Gerome and just dug held onto the bar, muscles flexing.

“We're goin' drinking,” Gerome stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It's a Void-damned emergency.”

Gerome had no idea what his face looked like, but Calla took one look and looked worried. “Emergency pint?” She asked.

“Emergency fuckin' _pitcher_.”

*

“I'm _too fuckin' old_ to have a Void-damned crisis, Cal.”

They were three pitchers of cheap beer in, and Gerome had spilled everything. The muscles, the water, the fuck-the-fuck-outta-you eyes. Everything. Cal had barely stopped giggling to look sympathetic.

“Fuck you. This is serious,” Gerome slurred.

“I think you just took a really specific kind of man to realize you liked them too,” Cal told him, gesturing with her pint. “What we gots to do is narrow it down a mite.”

Alarmed, Gerome jerked out of his slump and stared at her, wide-eyed. “Wait, what? Cal, no.”

“Cal, _yes_.” She drained her pint and scanned the room. “Hey, you,” she called out at a tall, dark-haired man leaning on the bar. He had the muscled upper body of a dock worker. “C'mere!”

Looking bemused, the man wandered over. As soon as he reached the table, Calla turned expectantly to Gerome.

“Well?” She demanded.

“No,” Gerome mumbled emphatically through his hands. “What the fuck, Cal.”

Calla turned back to the baffled dock worker. “'Kay, you can go. We're doing a survey. Send, uh.” She scanned the room again. “Send your friend over.”

“Fuckin' Void,” Gerome grumbled.

*

A few hours later, Gerome was nursing a black eye and the bar was on fire. Calla had two marriage proposals. Clearly everything was unfair.

At least there wasn't a goat.

Days went by. Gerome was still unfortunately wanting to lick the Boss' abs. The Boss was beginning to give him Looks, which meant he knew something was fuckin' weird, and was going to corner him and ask him about it. Gerome had seventeen escape plans depending on where he did it.

But then it got worse. See, the Boss had a _regimen._ In the mornings, he'd go out and do crazy shit like handstands on top of fuckin' poles, or twist himself into a fuckin' human pretzel. Before, Gerome never really looked at him, but now he was walking into fuckin' doors ogling the Boss. The man was really fuckin' limber, okay? And his hair would come loose and flop into his eyes, and it would soften his face and make him look his age instead of ten years older.

“So,” Munchkin began, sidling up to Gerome in the mess hall. “A little birdie told me you're having a crisi- ACK!”

Gerome grabbed him in a headlock and dragged the pup out of the room, ignoring the occasional looks from the others. Seeing an empty room, he shoved the kid into it and slammed the door shut.

“What have you heard,” Gerome demanded. “Who told you?! It was Calla, wasn't it?”

Munchkin held his hands up, looking confused. “Gerome, calm down. I noticed because you're kind of obvious. When Master Daud got rained on and stripped out of his shirt, you dropped your cigarette. You _never_ drop your cigarette.”

Gerome stepped away from the pup, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuckin' hell. That obvious?”

“Only to people who know you,” Munchkin reassured. “What are you going to do about it?”

Gerome sank back and leaned against a desk. “Nothin'” he said. “I ain't fuckin' up a professional relationship just to get the chance to get some tail. Or dick, I guess.”

“Aw,” Munchkin whined. “But he _respects_ you! And I know he likes men, too.”

“Respect ain't the same as attraction, Void, pup.” Gerome fished a cig from his bandoleer and lit it. “And how the fuck do you know that bit about him likin' men?”

“I followed him last Fugue,” Munchkin said, matter-of-factly. “I wanted to see what kind of man he was. I stayed on the rooftops and he went into an alley with a man.”

Gerome had a manful struggle with his curiosity and won. “Don't do that again. Fuck knows what the Boss'd do to you if he caught you watchin' him plow some guy.”

Munchkin grinned his big, bright smile. “Got it,” he said. Then his innocent smile turned lewd. “Want to know the details? Size? Shape? Style of fuc-” Gerome surged forward and clapped a hand over the pup's mouth.

“Fuckin' Void,” he muttered, staring at the kid wide-eyed. “Who knew that beneath the innocent face you're a fuckin' pervert. What the fuck, Munchkin?”

Munchkin mumbled something that sounded like, “I'm helping!” Gerome glared.

“No, you ain't,” he growled. “I'm havin' a hard enough time as it is ignorin' this.”

A muffled, disappointed “aw” came from behind his hand. “I ain't kiddin' about this. Never fuck where you work.”

He shot the kid a quelling look when he just waggled his eyebrows at him. “Fuck you, pup. I'm dispensing genuine fuckin' advice here. Respect your Void-damned elders.”

Munchkin huffed a breath through his nose and rolled his eyes. Finally, after much glaring from Gerome, he nodded. Gerome cautiously removed his hand, watching Munchkin narrowly.

“You're really going to ignore this?” Munchkin asked.

“Damn right,” Gerome growled, turning to leave. “I'm gonna ignore this until it goes away.”

*

It didn't go away.

The burning attraction did, however, get lost beneath the Overseer attack, and getting hired on as fucking _spies_. Don't get him wrong, the Whalers did do spy work every once in a while, but not as a full-time thing. It wasn't Gerome's specialty.

But he didn't complain. He'd honestly expected to have to go on the run with the rest of his crew. And when they were recruited, he'd thought Empress would have them shoved off into tiny barracks. At the very least, he figured they'd be watched constantly. But that didn't happen

What did happen, instead, was little Em following the off-duty Whalers around. She fucking _loved_ Cal, climbing onto her lap and asking for pirate stories. Munchkin and Thom had fucking tea parties with her. The Twins took her on their pranks, causing the Boss to follow her with rolled eyes.

Gerome had never seen the Boss like this. Now that he wasn't leading the Whalers, he seemed to have relaxed. Once, Gerome caught him teaching Em how to sneak, gentler and softer than he'd ever treated the novices. He didn't spoil her like most of the Whalers did, though none treated her lame arm as anything other than normal. But in his own, gruff way, Daud was acting as a protector and mentor to Em, and it was fucking adorable.

When Em was asleep for the night, the Boss – though Thomas was technically the boss now – would play these fucking intense Serkonan dice and card games with Corvo. They had crazy fucking rules that would probably fill a novel, and the two men would get incredibly competitive over them. It was the angriest, most competitive form of flirting Gerome had ever seen.

Sometimes the two would spar, and Gerome would walk into another wall watching them go at it. They both moved like men that had trained their entire lives. All deadly grace and catlike muscle. Sometimes Gerome would be joined by Calla, or even the Empress herself.

“I do so love watching them spar,” Jess would sigh, smirking down at her Lord Protector and her daughter's cooling off as they dumped buckets of water over their heads. Gerome grunted an affirmative and offered her a cig because he's a Void-damned gentleman. Jess waved it off as she always did and returned to ogling Attano and Daud. Gerome tried not to, and failed miserably.

The problem was, Attano was fucking gorgeous. Looking down at him now from the walls of the courtyard, Gerome could still easily see the grace in his movements. Man moved like one of those Serkonan cats, the big fuckers that'd eat people. Gerome sighed in defeat and went to go find Cal again.

*

“I think it's a kink,” Cal slurred at Gerome, who scowled down into his drink. “I think you only like guys who are the best at their jobs. I mean, the Lord Protector was one of the youngest ever to get that position, and Daud's been doing the assassin game for a really long time.”

“They were wrestlin' the other day, Cal,” Gerome whined. “Grapplin' without shirts! It's fuckin' unethical.”

“Y'want me to make out with Amelie for a bit where you can see?” Calla offered with false sympathy. “It's for a good cause, clearly.”

Gerome transferred his scowl to Calla. “Why do I talk to you? You have the sympathy of a fuckin' hagfish.”

Cal laughed. “I think we've all established that you're the hagfish, love.”

Gerome leaned back in his chair and flung his arms wide. “It's part of my charm,” he drawled, grinning. “I'm just so Void-damned delightful.”

Calla snickered. Then she sobered and leaned forward. “Listen,” she said, earnestly. “Fugue is coming up. Maybe what you need is to get laid.”

Gerome sighed and raked his fingers through the short hairs beneath his 'tail. “C'mon, Cal,” he said. “They're just gonna take one look at this ugly mug and fuckin' run for it.”

“Amelie can make you a mask,” Calla wheedled. “You know she'd do that for you. She likes you.”

Gerome chewed it over, downing a gulp from his beer. “Fine. And tell Munchkin to stay the fuck indoors.”

*

Weeks came and passed. Attano challenged Gerome to a sparring match. Gerome had to tap out very quickly when he became at risk of developing an inappropriate erection. When the night of the Feast came, Gerome was more than ready. He glared at the hagfish mask – Cal and her lady clearly thought they were funny.

Gerome pulled the ugly thing on, waiting until before he hit the crowds. Time to use his charm and wit and reel in the ladies.

Hours later, Gerome fished a cigarette out of his pocket to smoke away his frustration, and cursing Calla under his breath. His mask had terrified three women and one man threatened to roast him alive. The night was half over, and he still hadn't gotten his dick wet.

“Need a light?” A calloused hand came into view holding a lighter, startling Gerome badly. He glared at the stranger, a man with broad shoulders and a wolf mask that left the lower half of his face bare. Gerome glared, but accepted the light. The man's voice was oddly familiar, a raspy baritone that made his cock twitch in his trousers. While Gerome lit his cig, he sized up the stranger.

Taller than he was by a few inches. The man had a white shirt on that had been unbuttoned half way, baring a lightly-furred, muscular chest. Something about the way he was watching Gerome through the eyeslits in the wolf mask seemed... hungry. Almost predatory. Gerome could feel himself beginning to flush like a Void-damned virgin.

The scuff of boots against cobbles caught his attention. Gerome glanced over to his left to see another man enter the alleyway, this one with a crow's mask. The newcomer stepped lightly, which meant he'd deliberately dragged a foot to alert Gerome.

While Gerome's attention was caught by Crow, Wolf had moved into Gerome's space.

“You want to fuck?” He asked, bluntly. Gerome choked on his cigarette smoke and nearly headbutted Wolf as he doubled over.

Crow tsked at Wolf. “You can't just spring that on someone,” he chided. Wolf snorted.

“Please,” he sneered. “It's the Fugue. The whole point of Fugue is fucking, the way everyone acts. No one is going to send an embossed invitation.

“What,” Gerome squeaked. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried again. “What did you have in mind?”

Crow ducked his head, then peered up through his lashes. “We thought maybe you can fuck me, and my, uh, friend, here. He could watch? He doesn't like to be touched, but he'll keep you busy while I get, uh, _ready_.”

Gerome nodded, trying not to look completely at sea. Outsider's eyes, he'd had no idea what the fuck Crow was talking about with 'ready', but he sure as death didn't want to seem completely helpless. He had half a second to hope his face wasn't looking too panicked, before Wolf was on him.

Gerome was pinned to the rough brick. He choked out a moan as Wolf's teeth nipped at his throat, hot, damp breath warming his jugular. Strong, callused hands grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of his head.

“Keep them there,” Wolf growled. The back of Gerome's head scraped against the wall when he nodded. Wolf went back to leaving sucking kisses along the line of his throat. He slid one long thigh between Gerome's legs, pressing it in and up against his groin. Gerome tilted his head back and screwed his eyes shut, panting.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, hips hitching uncontrollably. There was a raspy chuckle from his collarbone.

Suddenly, Wolf was gone and Gerome was being propelled towards Crow, who had three fingers screwing into his ass and a knee up on a crate. Gerome fetched up behind him, carefully reaching out and brushing a finger against Crow's rim. Crow made a breathy, punched-out noise and dropped his chin to his chest.

“I'm ready, come on,” Crow moaned. Gerome reached for his trousers, but Wolf beat him to it. He was a line of heat against Gerome's back, and while he quickly and deftly opened Gerome's trousers, he still let him fish himself out.

“Oh fuck, Void, shit,” Gerome breathed, closing his teeth on Crow's nape as he slid in. “Fuckin'- Are you okay?” Crow was really fucking tight. Gerome was fairly certain his fingers were going to leave fucking bruises on Crows hips, but couldn't make himself let Crow go. Wolf grabbed hold of his hips and forced Gerome to stillness, eliciting a whine from both himself and Crow.

“I believe the man asked you a question,” Wolf rasped. Gerome felt teeth and tongue on his neck, and screwed his eyes shut and thought really hard about Weepers. “Don't let him move,” Wolf growled into Gerome's ear as Crow tried to fuck himself back onto Gerome's dick.

“I'm good, I'm ready, c'mon, _please_ ,” Crow whined, half-heartedly fighting Gerome's hold.

Wolf's hands clenching was all the warning Gerome got before he was moved forward, positioned so that he was bent over Crow and fully seated inside him.

“Move,” Wolf commanded.

“Yes, sir,” Gerome grit out through clenched teeth. Though he was new to this whole... thing, this, he knew.

Twin breaths hissed out from clenched teeth.

“Y'like that?” Gerome grunted. Don't go off yet, don't go off yet, don't go off yet. The mantra was repeated every time his hips snapped forwards. “Y'like me callin' you sir?”

Wolf shifted behind Gerome and teeth nipped at his earlobe. “Yeah, yeah, that's good.”

Crow rutted back against Gerome. “Outsider's eyes, come on, come on, harder.”

Wolf reached around and flicked at Crow's ear. “Watch what you say,” he growled. “You don't know who's listening.”

Crow shuddered, muscles standing out against his shirt, which clung to him with sweat. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and smirk, and for a moment, Gerome thought he saw black instead of human eyes. But when he focussed, Crow's eyes were brown, and glassy with lust. Gerome decided it must have been a trick of the shadows.

“Jerk him off,” Wolf murmured in Gerome's ear. “He's close.”

“Ah,” Gerome moaned. “Y-es, sir.” Obediently, he reached around Crow's hip and gripped his cock. It's just like with yourself, he told himself. He started with rough, fast movements of his hand, interspersed with a quick twist at the head. Crow gasped and collapsed against the wall, fucking forward into Gerome's fist and back onto his cock.

“Please, please, yeah, yes, there,” Crow whined. Wolf chuckled and stalked around them to watch from the side.

“Now, doesn't he beg pretty?” He asked, smirking from behind his mask. It was enough for Crow who screamed and clawed at the wall, clenching like a fist around Gerome. That was all it took for Gerome to follow, with a bitten-off curse and bite to Crow's shoulder. For a moment, all Gerome could see was white.

When he came back to himself, he was slumped over Crow, the messy ends of his hair dripping sweat onto the other man's back.

“Holy fuck,” Gerome managed. “That was...”

“Nngh,” was all Crow slurred out. There was a rough chuckle from the right as Wolf came forward. With quick, easy movements, he fixed Crow's mask where it had been knocked slightly askew. Gerome politely averted his eyes to give him privacy and tucked himself back into his trousers, moving to lean against the wall to Crow's left. By now, he was certain who these two were, and was very carefully not thinking about it. At all.

“Drink,” Wolf commanded, holding out a bottle. “It's just water, but you need to rehydrate.”

Gerome rolled his eyes and took the bottle out of his hand. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it into his own hand.

“Thanks,” he said, grudgingly. He flicked a glance at Crow, who was now gingerly sitting on the crate. “You uh, okay?”

Crow smiled and waved him off. “Nothing I can't handle, nor anything I didn't expect. Thank you.”

Gerome squinted at him. “Are you thankin' me for the concern, or for railin' you?”

Crow flashed him a charming grin. “Yes,” he answered, knowing full well he was being a shit.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“You just did,” Crow returned. Gerome groaned and kicked the crate.

“Fuckin'- really?” Despite wanting to smack Crow for the pun, Gerome handed over the bottle instead. “Take a damn drink, you fuckin' choffer.”

Crow chuckled and took a pull from the bottle.

Gerome glanced around. “Where'd your friend go?” Wolf had vanished, making no sound. Crow snorted.

“He's not my friend, and I have no idea where he's gone now,” he said, hopping off the crate and staggering a step. Gerome reached out automatically to help him, but he was waved off.

“You gonna be okay to get wherever the fuck you're goin'?” He asked. Crow smiled at him, a brilliant, pleased thing.

“I'll be fine, thank you,” he said. “For someone who looks and acts like a Bottle Street Thug, you do seem to care quite a bit.”

Gerome spluttered. “Fuck off, choffer,” he growled, feeling his face heat. He turned on his heel and stormed off. As soon as he rounded the corner, he activated his Dark Gaze and watched Crow look up at the rooftops and transverse away. Gerome closed his eyes and rubbed at them.

This was not going to help meeting the Boss and the Lord Protector tomorrow.

 


End file.
